


surprise.

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Marvel
Genre: Alien Sex, Double Penetration, Enthusiastic Consent, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, Oral Sex, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 06:37:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15285855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: The Grandmaster has a surprise for Loki, but he won't get it just yet.





	surprise.

**Author's Note:**

> Ren says: greetings! it is i, satan!, back again with a new idea for terrible, terrible smut! please join me now for a table-turned trope: rather than the GM watching Loki get fucked by a tentacle monster, Loki walks in on or is otherwise treated to GM beings fucked by a tentacle monster. and it is . . . u n n e r v i n g l y erotic.

“I, uh, I have a surprise for you, honey,” the Grandmaster purrs in his ear, and Loki shivers. He leans into the Grandmaster’s mouth, which drags hot and playful over the side of his neck, and he wonders what this  _surprise_  could possibly consist of. A surprise could be something easy - a new ornament the Grandmaster wants for him to wear in his hair, a new outfit, even a book one of the scrappers had plucked from a corpse. A surprise could equally be something… Difficult.

“What is it, Grandmaster?” Loki asks softly, and the Grandmaster laughs against the shell of his ear. Loki feels a twinge of fearful uncertainty, and Loki drags in a little gasp of air. 

“It’s not a surprise if I  _tell_  you, Lo-Lo.”

“It would still be a surprise the first time you tell me,” Loki points out, and the Grandmaster laughs a little louder this time, dragging a hand through Loki’s hair and pulling him into a kiss  _warm_  with affection. Whatever it is that has put the Grandmaster in so good a mood. - that bodes ill for Loki, and more uncertainty settles in his bones, heated beneath his skin. What manner of abuse is he to suffer today, what–

Loki swallows.

“Grandmaster…” The Q’ia’r is a great mess of deeply violet tentacles, and beside him, the Grandmaster stiffens in anticipation. Those tentacles are  _huge_ , thick at their base and slick with some alien lubrication, and deep within the writhing mass Loki can make out many eyes. He bites hard on his lip to keep from shaking his head, and he says, “Oh, Grandmaster, I don’t–”

“Mmm, excuse me, uh, excuse me, honey,” the Grandmaster says, and Loki is stiff in his seat as he watches him move to stand, shifting across the room to greet the Q’ia’r. Oh, Loki doesn’t want to. This is too big, too extreme, too much at once– “Your surprise’ll just have to wait!”

Loki pauses, thrown for a loop, and he narrows his eyes slightly.

But the Grandmaster doesn’t even look back at him. There he is, swiftly crossing the room to greet this tentacled beast, and the Grandmaster bows politely, beaming brightly at it. Immediately, a tentacle winds around his waist, friendly and overly tactile as the Q’ia’r can be, and Loki freezes, part-expecting the turn toward him, pulling him over, or for the Grandmaster to lose his temper, to turn his anger upon the Q’ia’r, but–

The Grandmaster laughs. Reaches out, drags his fingers over a finger-thin tentacle and let it curl between his fingers.

Another tentacle slips up, dragging away the belt from around the Grandmaster’s waist. Another pushes off the gold lamé outer robe that he wears, baring the red and blue beneath, and Loki feels his mouth entirely dry. He can’t possibly…

The red and blue fabric rips.

The Grandmaster is naked now, his golden-brown skin slick in places from the drip of alien moisture, and he can’t be, he  _wouldn’t_ … The Q’ia’r lifts him clean off the ground, tentacles winding around his arms and waist and legs, and the Grandmaster  _moans_ , reaching out and grabbing at more of the Q’ia’r. He brings a thick tentacle right to this mouth and eagerly takes it onto his tongue, sucking lasciviously and  _messily_ , a mixture of saliva and blue slick dripping down his chin. 

A thinner tentacle winds its way around the thick, alien ridges of the Grandmaster’s strange cock, and the Grandmaster’s hips tilt up and into it, his thighs spreading open, and a tentacle slips between his thighs and presses  _up_. When the tentacle thrusts inside him, the Grandmaster’s whole body  _arches_. He moans around the tentacle in his mouth, grabbing more and letting them slide along his body, wind around his limbs. He’s just so enthusiastic, his hips stuttering down onto the tentacle that slips so easily inside him, squirming like he’s in the most unspeakable ecstasy.

He makes it look  _good_. Loki can see his body twitching and shifting, see his eyes close and hear him just  _groan_ , hear his desperate noises and the slick slap of flesh-on-flesh. 

Loki fidgets slightly, feeling his fingers drag against his own palm: he can feel his own flesh  _hot_ , and between his legs he can feel blood flowing down, can feel himself– He’s  _wet_. This has made him  _wet_. And he tells himself, desperately, that it’s at seeing the Grandmaster so debased, at seeing him fucked so thoroughly by so alien a creature, at seeing him unspeaking and in the grip of pleasure.

But what would it be like to be in his place?

To feel those slick tentacles, to feel that wet, alien muscle drag over his skin, to feel it hot in his mouth or coiling about his limbs, to feel it slip  _inside_  him–

Loki crosses his legs, in time to see another tentacle press up behind the Grandmaster’s backside, and it won’t fit, it  _won’t_ , but it does. The Grandmaster screams around the tentacle in his mouth, but his cock is jerking, and Loki can see his come spatter on the tentacles coiled about him, can see him  _loving_  it.

Later, the Grandmaster is brought a red robe, and he all but staggers across the room to Loki, sprawling beside him. Loki reacts by learned instinct, dragging his hand through the Grandmaster’s sweat-damp hair and gently playing over his scalp, and the Grandmaster grins up at him.

“Was that my surprise?” Loki asks, his tone delicate. “I rather enjoyed the view.”

“Mmm,  _no_ ,” the Grandmaster purrs, his eyes closed, and his expression amused. “That’ll, uh, that’ll have to  _wait_ , kitten. Daddy’s kinda beat.” 

“So I see,” Loki murmurs, and he glances toward the Q’ia’r, which is drinking a cocktail by dousing his tentacle in the flute of the glass, slowly absorbing it. “Tell me my surprise.”

“Later,” the Grandmaster says. He relaxes, and Loki breathes in, watching as his jaw slackens slightly and he leans in a little more to Loki’s thighs, acting as if they’re a plush pillow instead of a hard bed of muscle, and he’s…  _He’s asleep_. How can he be asleep? How–?

Loki should feel fear. He ought feel fear and anxiety, ought be disgusted to have this monster of a being in his lap. Whatever surprise it is, it is undoubtedly something  _terrible_ , something Loki will hate, something  _unspeakable_ , and Loki cannot trust it, will not trust it, but the Grandmaster looks so peaceful like this. Loki cannot help the ugly affection within him - stupid,  _foolish_.

He glances back toward the Q’ia’r, and he feels a sick hunger in the pit of his belly. A desire for–

A surprise. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Hit me up on Tumblr](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com/faq). Requests always open.


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